


one-on-one

by justlikeswitchblades



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-10
Updated: 2017-06-10
Packaged: 2018-11-12 13:47:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11163108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justlikeswitchblades/pseuds/justlikeswitchblades
Summary: Atsushi is an iron wall built around the basketball hoop, extending out to wherever Shintarou is standing on the court. But Shintarou has more facets to his game than what initially appears.





	one-on-one

**Author's Note:**

> belated 6/9 (what a good ship to enjoy on my birthday...)
> 
> post canon i guess...or AU where mido is this comfortable with PDA lmao

Atsushi is an iron wall built around the basketball hoop, extending out to wherever Shintarou is standing on the court. He keeps negating his jumps with his own height, slapping the ball out of Shintarou’s hands. Even if Shintarou manages a successful jump, the slow arc of the ball gives Atsushi enough time to run to the basket, tipping the ball away. It may be illegal, but this is just a one-on-one, and the rules can be fudged here; Shintarou may scrunch up his nose at it, but that only serves to encourage Atsushi. Shintarou always looks cute when he’s angry.

Shintarou, however, has more facets to his game than what initially appears. The pressure of his defense makes Atsushi hesitate, the seconds longer Atsushi takes to shoot messes up his rhythm, makes his shots miss their mark. Shintarou steals the ball and drives to the free-throw line; Atsushi jumps anyways. But Shintarou doesn't jump until Atsushi is descending, the fadeaway passing through the hoop with a satisfying swish. Atsushi frowns; Shintarou can't stop smirking.

“You're not supposed to shoot inside.”

“The arc is high enough to guarantee me scoring more than fifty-percent of the time. The margin of error is too wide for me to use it in an actual game, but I can work on it.”

“But you still won't dunk.”

“Well,” Shintarou adjusts his glasses. “I ought to let the rest of you have some fun.”

Atsushi pouts, and is tempted to pout even more at the thought that Shintarou might call him childish and simple, because dunking _is_ fun. But so is defending and denying baskets, and he knows that Shintarou feels the same way about his style of basketball, which makes the reward Atsushi reaps all the more sweeter, snatching the ball up and driving to the opposite side of the court, slamming another two points in. Shintarou is a few paces behind him, and now it's his turn to pout again.

Atsushi watches Shintarou net a half-court shot, and with the score being tied, they leave the game at that; summer in Akita is usually pleasant, but the humidity today matches that of Tokyo’s. The skin on the back of Shintarou’s neck is turning pink with sunburn; Atsushi feels sweat start to bead up on his own. They pass the court off to a group of elementary school kids gathering on the sidelines and retreat into the shade of the neighboring park. Atsushi mops at his face with his t-shirt; Shintarou, cleaning his hands of street court grime with a sanitary wipe, tries to be discrete as his gaze drops over Atsushi’s stomach.

“I can take it off, if you want.”

There's a part of Shintarou that wants to snap _‘Don't bother’_ , but he hesitates for a second, wanting to see more of Atsushi’s tan outside of his bedroom’s subpar lighting.

“Whatever,” He huffs, resigned.

“Sometimes it's hard to find enough people for that in the summer,” Atsushi muses aloud, dropping his shirt. “Shirts and skins. Well...a team that's harder to beat, I suppose.”

Shintarou nods, and Atsushi sits down in the grass, searching through his duffel to find the ever-present plastic bag full of convenience store snacks. He pops a candy in his mouth and pats his lap; Shintarou narrows his eyes. Atsushi pats his lap again, slower this time, and Shintarou sighs at himself, at the tiny smirk curling at the corner of Atsushi’s mouth even before he gives in. They're both stubborn, and he thinks he ought to have built up some kind of defense against this by now, but agreeing to be with Atsushi is volunteering to lose most of the simpler battles--especially the ones where he isn't really that opposed to Atsushi's preferred outcome.

If anything, no one should recognize him here in Akita, and Takao isn’t here to laugh if he sees, so that’s enough of a bargain for public display of affection. He sits down in Atsushi’s lap, and Atsushi makes a contented noise, sliding his arms around Shintarou’s waist and resting his chin on his shoulder. Atsushi sticks his tongue out, offering the melting candy to Shintarou, the coloring turning his tongue blue.

“Atsushi.”

“C’mon, Mido-chin,” Atsushi pouts, sucking on the candy in emphasis. “It tastes good.”

Shintarou is quiet, save for the noise his water bottle makes as he drains half its contents; Atsushi watches his Adam’s apple bob, is tempted to press a sugary kiss to his throat. But he knows he’s already toeing the line for what Shintarou will accept out in the open and what will actually annoy him. Shintarou leaning back against him feels nice, though. There’s a weight and a warmth that comes with it, but the sweat that has soaked through their t-shirts has started to cool, a moment of relief before it becomes irritating. Shintarou shifts not too long after, though, his shoulder pressed to Atsushi’s chest. But this is nicer; they can both see each other’s faces, and Shintarou can stretch his legs out. His expression is neutral and softer now; he offers his water bottle to Atsushi, who takes a drink.

Atsushi unwraps another hard candy--strawberry--and smiles a little when he sees Shintarou eyeing it. He still pops it into his own mouth, and Shintarou sighs, though only letting on to a little exasperation this time. His eyelids close and his lips part, and Atsushi cups Shintarou’s cheek when he leans in, licking at Shintarou’s bottom lip just briefly before pushing the candy into his mouth. Shintarou’s bare fingers, yet to be taped up postgame, tangle into Atsushi’s hair, candy clacking against his teeth as he kisses him. 

He relaxes into Atsushi again, closing his eyes, but an itch at the back of his neck makes his brows draw together. Atsushi’s eyes go to the color on Shintarou’s ears, on the tip of his nose.

“Oh. You must’ve forgotten sunscreen.”

“I know it’s in my bag,” Shintarou frowns. “Not that it would’ve made much of a difference, but--” Atsushi’s hands closes around Shintarou’s as he sits up, reaching.

“Let me put it on for you.”

Shintarou chews his lip a little; Atsushi knows how much of a perfectionist he is about these things.

“Alright,” Shintarou says with a measure of trust. “Just don’t waste the whole bottle.”


End file.
